


The Adventures of Buckaroo Doomguy Across the 69th Dimension

by CELERY_MAN



Category: Doom (Video Games)
Genre: Cocaine, Dethklok - Freeform, Djentlemen, Doom Eternal, Fuckslayer, Full Life Consequences, Gore, Gun Kink, Half-Life 2, Harry Potter - Freeform, Helicopters, John Freeman, John Stalvern, Judas Priest - Freeform, Ninja, Other, Peter Chimaera, Psychic Mermaid Helicopters, Robots, Science Fiction, Scuba Ninjas, Squick, Tongue-in-cheek, hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, metal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-05-29 13:37:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 33
Words: 18,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15074294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CELERY_MAN/pseuds/CELERY_MAN
Summary: Doomguy is pissed. So fucking pissed, he's going to travel across space and time just to fuckin' punch all the baddies so hard that their brain cases explode into a shower of crunchy mist. It's nothing more than a melting pot of psychotic frustration and explicitly sensual violence— what's not to love? Seething with action and heavy metal; dripping with brutal gore and twisted nonsense! Endless fun for the entire family!RIP AND TEAR!





	1. Party Pooper

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/52034) by Secondpillow. 



Doomguy punched the hovering space boombox open, cramming a cassette into it with the same force required to shove a Mancubus's detached, throbbing heart down its own throat.

Then, he punched the play button; the machine gargled, rumbled, sparked, and then spontaneously ejected several masses of tape onto Doomguy's face. He punched it again.

Immediately, the boombox submitted to his demands. He had punched it so hard that the magnetic tape now rivaled the sound quality of an orchestral hall. Fearfully, the boombox began to relay a heavy, throbbing synth beat at the highest, clearest bitrate ever to grace this dimension.

This was only the beginning. Doomguy nodded his head, awaiting the buildup.

Now, the heaviest fucking jam had begun. Doomguy was headbanging so hard now, entirely unable to cease the action. It was beyond his control. The headbanging was instinctual. Primal. Unstoppable. Possibly sexual.

The rhythm was raw. The bass was choppy and brutal. The tormented sequencers suffered endlessly, crying for naught. But the song was missing one last instrument. The hollow, tenor cries of perishing demons. The sharp, shrill hi-hats of cracking ribs, and the shattering of jaws. The quick tom-like pops of spines, and the harmonious stretching and tearing of flesh.

Doomguy put the boombox into his pocket, and punched through the wall, to the rhythm of the music. He fell through space, passed through a curtain of beads, and soon, he came upon a bong. Immediately, he kicked it as if it were a football. It flew 20 feet across the room and shattered across a rather large demon's face.

It coughed, then quietly removed the sooty glass shards from its forehead.

"You can't do that," howled the massive, chimæric demon. "It's not possible. I'm a senator."

Doomguy responded with the middle finger.

The senator leapt from its tattered reclining chair, and dashed toward Doomguy, propelling itself along with digitigrade legs and pointed hooves. Doomguy ducked and slid across the carpet, gliding to the left to grab yet another bong. Even if he were not wearing the suit, he was far too badass to get carpet burns.

Seething with silent rage, Doomguy crushed one half of the bong in his hand, immediately transforming it into a crude, twisted weapon.

The senator turned back around, leapt once again, and then slashed at Doomguy with his nine-inch long tungsten fingernails. Doomguy dodged most of the attacks, taking all but two scratches to his armor. He ignored the futile pain and promptly grabbed the demon by its fleshy, muscly wrist, simultaneously thrusting the bong straight into the beast's cranium.

The broken vessel was twisted around within, and the deep cracking of the glass could not be discerned from the sharp shattering and scraping of the skull. The demon wheezed and whistled, flinging saliva from its ripped, tattered esophagus, unable to scream through its mutilated face. Its glowing eyes extinguished into smoke like a candle, and it collapsed to the floor, where its remains evaporated into fire and ash. Hot, fresh blood remained on Doomguy's hands, blended together with minuscule bits of infernal brain matter and flakes of bone.

Doomguy skipped around cheerfully, rubbing his palms together and popping his knuckles in sync with every few beats. More demons were appearing in the room, summoning themselves from the throes of Hell. They began to toss fireballs, bongs, and dirty laundry at Doomguy's face, along with lasers, all kinds of plasma, and buckshot. They simply grabbed handfuls of lead and flung it to the marine.

Doomguy dashed and bounded through the room, ducking behind the chair to pick up a giant tupperware container full of shiny 12.7mm. He grabbed a plastic funnel, took a rifle from his pocket, and began to pour the ammo into the tip of the barrel, with haste. The unspent cartridges seemed too wide to fit into the barrel, but Doomguy harnessed pure badassery and willpower to force each whole shot through the barrel, with his mind.

He punched the chair out of the way, and promptly unleashed a spray of hot metal into the demon's fiendish asses. Each bullet pierced and punched through their flesh, sending dirty mist and faint slivers of guts into the air. The chamber now reeked; it was rusty, singed, and perhaps slightly musky. Doomguy certainly did not care for the smell of burning flesh, but he always held it in positive memory as it coincided with his favorite activities.

Doomguy cornered an Imp, as it writhed against the wall, howling. It bled profusely, channeling its pain into primal aggression. It swung its claws and threw its fists at Doomguy, flailing and screaming. It smudged his visor.

He pinned the demon against the wall, and splayed its ribcage open, before silently sticking a grenade inside. He used his pinky finger to push the grenade deeper, and then Doomguy roundhouse kicked the demon at a bunch of other demons and they all exploded in a fiery cloud of dust, debris, and chunky, burgundy mist.

Doomguy stared quietly as the plume of mist, blood, and chunks slapped onto the floor. He put the gun back into his pocket.


	2. Turnsday

The day was Turnsday, the most holy day of the week. Doomguy was waiting in line, at a lemonade stand. There were many people in the line, from all corners of the world, stretching across all corners of the world, and it seemed the wait for lemonade would be far too long. Doomguy was an impatient soul. He punched his own perception of time, so that the line appeared to advance more quickly. Doomguy then unpunched his perception of time, and stood silently before the lemonade distributor.

The lemonade distributor was nothing more than a small child. It quietly gazed up at Doomguy's helmet, eyes brimming with awe, respect, and fear.

Doomguy pointed at the sign. He punched the air and summoned several notes of currency onto the table.

The child then poured a glass of lemonade, slid it across the table toward the marine, and then shyly took the notes to place them in a wrinkled plastic bag. Doomguy grabbed the lemonade and immediately splashed it onto his visor.

Doomguy sat the empty cup back onto the table, as he turned to the side. He pulled a shotgun from his pocket and peppered a demon that was hiding in a bush. The child gasped.

"Blessed be this Turnsday, you have saved my life," cried the child, as it hugged onto Doomguy's ankle.

Doomguy stared silently, before giving the kid a single pat on the head. He then removed the child from his leg and awkwardly placed it back behind the stand.

"How may I ever repay you, sir?" questioned the child.

Doomguy subtly shook his head in response. For Doomguy, slaughtering the demons was its own reward. He was beginning to develop separation anxiety from punching things and shooting things and killing things until they were dead. Desperately, Doomguy frolicked into the bushes.

* * *

Doomguy encountered the Fruit Loop in the piths of the jungle.

It was a massive, corpulent creature, faintly avian in appearance, and deeply corrupted by Hell. It writhed between the bushes, its masses of fruity flesh slithering between the trees. Occasionally, it moaned and croaked in pain; each of its pulsating body vessels nothing but a recurring manifestation of sin and terror. The beast was fated to exist in the cyclical torture of its own existence, ripping itself apart from the inside and regrowing its flesh indefinitely. Various conglomerate masses of breakfast cereals were embedded into its flesh, digging deeper and stabbing into its body as it moved.

Doomguy caught a brief glimpse of the monster's face. Its eyes were bloody, beady, fiery and soulless, but they seemed to beg for mercy. The creature demanded death, but its animalian brain preserved the instinct to survive; and it saw Doomguy as a threat. It raised one of its tattered, clawed wings, and began to pull its bulbous, bloated body towards Doomguy. He shot it in the fucking face.

It screamed, and slinked to the side, before unleashing a beam of pure energy from its maw. The colorful, fruity hellbeam cut through the brush, bringing trees to the ground and turning the scrub to ash. The Fruit Loop then began to flail and writhe in pain, reliving its painful experiences ad nauseam. Doomguy punched at the air and spun in circles, excitedly.

The Fruit Loop's long, toucanine beak soon twisted into a colorful, goat-like skull. Horns protruded from its eye sockets, ripping through flesh and blinding the creature. Its ribs splayed apart from one another, flattening and widening the beast's shape like a cobra's frill. It spewed a brief plume of flame from its nostrils, then bled from its disfigured face, washing the lush, green jungle flora over with a coat of red.

Just as the creature opened its jaw to spew another rainbowlescent hellbeam, Doomguy had readied his rocket launcher. He sent a chunk of propelled explosive straight into the Fruit Loop's windpipe, where it detonated.

 

A showery spray of baked, airy blood and burnt cereal fell upon Doomguy. He wiped his visor, put the rocket launcher back into his pocket, and then meandered forward, to curiously examine what was left of the demon's corpse. It was nothing but a mass of bloody, fatty flesh, and cereal, now free from its misery.

A group of mud farmers emerged from the bushes and began to scatter themselves throughout the clearing, where they gathered clumps of cereal in their mud baskets. They expressed their gratitude to Doomguy, blessing him with gifts, including their most precious and prized clumps of mud. He didn't want to be rude, so he gently stuffed the mud into his pocket, and went on his merry way.


	3. Best Friends for Life

Doomguy insisted that he didn't need friends because he already had a friend. The friend's name was violence, and it was the best fucking friend ever. Violence followed Doomguy everywhere, like a puppy. If he could, Doomguy would be patting violence on the head and giving it treats and scratching its bloody, tattered death ears.

Doomguy ripped a propeller blade from an airplane carcass, then quickly clambered atop the decaying fuselage. He took another leap, and grabbed onto a floating Cacodemon, before digging the prop into its eye and bringing the demon's howling corpse to the ground with a crunch. He fucking punched it until it fucking exploded into a cloud of fucking blue mist.

Doomguy wiped the blood from his visor, and then climbed back onto his giraffe, nestling his thrust boots into the stirrups. He nabbed the reins and dashed off with the beast, towards one of the hangars. He halted the giraffe in front of the hangar door, and listened closely for the grumbles of demons. They were there. He did a backflip off of his mount, and then cartwheeled into the hangar, kicking and punching the demons as he cartwheeled. Immediately, the entire hangar was painted with a coat of red. Doomguy ceased his gymnastics and bowed in front of his masterpiece.

One of the contractors handed Doomguy a wrinkly, sweaty 20 dollar bill for getting the job done so early. The workers mumbled, then scratched their heads, now unsure of what the fuck to do with all the red paint they just bought. They gave the paint to Doomguy as a gift, who predictably put the paint in his pockets and thanked the men silently.

Doomguy extended a ladder and climbed into the cockpit of a blood-slathered jet. He then flew the plane with his mind, taking off vertically through the ceiling and shooting off at Mach 2.3, towards the giant horse in the distance.

The giraffe saluted Doomguy as he flew into battle.


	4. Bluecifer

So anyways there was this giant blue fucking demon horse statue, and it came to life, turned all super huge, and started stepping on people and smearing its horse balls on all the airliners. Doomguy was called in to take care of it, and now he finally had the plane to get the job done.

Doomguy had no idea how to use the plane though, so he climbed out of the cockpit as it was flying. He punched the canopy shut, then walked across the nose of the plane, and then walked across the side of the plane, continuing to ignore gravity. He then walked along the bottom of the plane, as if it were an M.C. Esher painting. He punched open the panels on the bottom and started to jerk off the gun.

Right on cue, the plane lined up with the giant demon horse as the gun unleashed a spray of hot, sticky armor piercing shells. The massive bullets ripped into the horse's glassy metallic ass, fraying apart plates of material, and even vaporizing some of it. As the dust cleared, Doomguy realized that he had just used the worst possible weapon possible in a civilian area. They were just like these little ground beef splatters everywhere.

He shrugged and then texted god to bring all the people back to life later.

Doomguy jumped off of the plane and landed on the horse's head. He grabbed its ear and started to punch it in the fucking face like Shadow of the Colossus, but with less boring floppy magic swords and more punching in the fucking face. The horse reared and kicked, trying to dislodge Doomguy from its fucking face, but the attempts were futile. Angrily, the horse bellowed and shrieked, as it started to peel off its own artificial skin.

Thin shards and flat sheets began to slide off of the beast's back, as twisted, veiny wings stretched from their prison, like the visceral, wet hatching of a duckling. Doomguy leapt back onto his plane as the horse's face melted away, revealing a thin, wicked steel skull beneath the carapace. Its eyes burned brighter and brighter with hellfire as its claws broke free from the metal legs, and soon its ribs had detached from one another, forming what appeared to be yet another set of legs. It used these to remove the rest of the blue cyberglass armor from its body, and at last, it had finally achieved its true form.

Doomguy flipped it off.

The creature spread its wings, dripping and slinging eggy birth fluid across the tarmac. Its guts were clearly visible, pulsating and writhing around inside of it, being only held by a few pairs of its weakling leg ribs. Doomguy saw the huge demon and the huge guts and he started jerking the gun off again. The plane's gun, too.

The A-10 released another load of dripping hot incendiary, splattering straight through the demon's midsection. The plane then flew through the entire demon, exploding every single bit of it everywhere, and engulfing entire hunks of guts into its engines, shredding them like one of those smoothie machines. The impact was so devastating that the horse demon's skull had rocketed into space, and into a time portal, where it flew to nazi Germany and smashed hitler.

Shards of steel, chunks of gore, and every kind of visceral matter you could imagine was now raining down from the sky. Doomguy landed the plane upsidedown, and dismounted the gun, before marching across the runway with swagger and badassery.

Blood and guts continued to rain down like confetti. Suddenly, a crowd of random people approached Doomguy, clapping, and cheering, and also jerking off. Obama was there too, only nodding slightly and not jerking off. He walked up to Doomguy and then stuck a gold star sticker to his armor.

Doomguy cried.

 

But his tears were made of fists that turned into spirit eagles that flew out of his eyes and went on to kill nazis in another dimension by flying into their eyes before turning back into fists and fisting their fucking brains out.


	5. Cliffs & Riffs

Doomguy grabbed the demon's shoulder and then its other shoulder, instantly tearing its arm off with the sound of a deliciously deep and wet pop, and the quick, meaty sound of ripping muscle. He slapped the demon in its fucking face with its own fucking arm and then, he fucking beat it to death with its own fucking arm. Then he threw the arm at another demon, who got hit so hard in the gut that it flew backwards into a pit of rape eels.

Just then, a Superdemon leapt from above, clearing the smog with its powerful impact. It rolled and cracked its neck, stretched its swole muscles, and popped its knuckles, before ripping its arms in half like that dickwad general grievous, splitting the bone and letting sinew and fascia drip between the pairs. The beast fearlessly reached up its ass to obtain its most trusted weapons: nunchucks, a flail, a bunch of leather straps, and a giant floppy dildo. At once, the Superdemon began to flail the flail, spin the nunchucks, and relentlessly swing the dildo at Doomguy, nearing the marine to the slathering, writhing chasm of rape eels.

Doomguy reached into his pocket and procured an electric guitar, from a time and universe long dead and forgotten. It pulsed with mystery and exotica; the body carved from bloodstained silver, the tuning keys cut from black horns. Embedded within the translucent neck of the guitar was a mass of sparkling vessels and veins, pulsing eternally with immortal blood, glowing and writhing faintly with rhythm. The volume knob was permanently turned to level eleven, encrusted in place with the perpetually steaming semen of an ancient spirit dragon. The frets were of solid depleted uranium, the metallic markers hewn from the teeth of vampiric tigers; the deep, unorthodoxly-taut strings from the pubic hair of a titanium war angel. The cursed instrument needed no amplifier, as its own internal angst and uncontrollable hormones allowed the wicked atrocity to scream and bellow louder than every tortured soul in Hell combined. Across its entire surface, the guitar was etched with runes, forgotten names, and ancient spells, all their meanings lost through translation, all of them erased through the flow of time and knowledge, all of them remaining unreadable and unknown— save for one. One English rune remained, a name carved with the blade of anger, by the hand of testosterone: the enchanted letters were forever emblazoned across the fretboard:

**_FUCKSLAYER._ **

Doomguy played a holy riff from the beginning of an ancient ballad, _Æt Doom's Gate_. The riff's energy flowed through the guitar, unlocking its potential, and soon the neck split in two. Fuckslayer had become a fused, mutilated hybrid of an 8 string guitar and a 4 string bass, the top neck played by the hands of Doomguy, and the bottom neck played through his mind. Doomguy himself now formed an entire band, provided that the percussion manifested through the snapping of bones.

The Superdemon lunged for Doomguy's face, brutally spinning the nunchucks, which were made of actual nuns. Doomguy blocked the attack with Fuckslayer's soundwaves, unleashing a dark, choppy, and wonderfully demented rhythm. Doomguy began to telepathically connect with Fuckslayer, channelling his emotions through his fingertips, which shot lightning and fire in sync with every fret, pluck, and strum. The instrument's fury had finally been unleashed in a violent climax— the blood steamed, the bass deepened, and the rough, repetitive melody distorted as the machine built and released its rage indefinitely.

Doomguy swung the guitar's bladed, potent neck at the Superdemon's soft, floppy neck, beheading the beast instantly. He then freed the nuns from their shackles, using Fuckslayer to open a portal back to their homeworld. One of them gave him a cookie.

More demons appeared across the cliffs, screaming, howling, and charging their fireball attacks. Doomguy threw the cookie as if it were a shuriken, instantly decapitating a Hell Knight in a sudden splash of chocolate chips, misty blood, buttery brown crumbs, and dislodged vertebrae.

Doomguy then played a lower, faster riff, in order to send a wave of raw energy at an Imp. The bolt of fire and lightning shot over the rocks and made contact with the twisted creature, spontaneously ripping it apart into a barrage of singed bones, baked organs, boiled blood, and strands of shriveled muscle.

Doomguy intensified his focus on the baseline, keeping the rhythm as smooth and calculated as possible. He swung the guitar at another Imp, blasting its skull into a beautiful variety of pieces, turning its brain matter to mist in an instant. He dashed to the side, and drop kicked a possessed security guard down into the pulsating mass of eels, who enthusiastically raped him and murdered him and then raped him yet again.

Doomguy expertly melded another riff into the song. This riff was far more powerful, seething and dripping with unfathomable bloodlust. Fuckslayer's bottom neck grew, one half remaining as the bass, the other having twisted and mutated into a fully functional chainsaw, fueled purely by the blood of its enemies.

Doomguy took Fuckslayer's gritty, jagged new chainsaw, and thrust it into the gut of a Mancubus, carving the creature out like a halloween pumpkin, until nothing remained of its insides. The emptied corpse solemnly drooped, plopped, and flopped over as Doomguy shoved it into the chasm, where the eels began to rape and devour its fatty flesh. One of the eels immediately latched its rapejaw around the corpse's neck, before twisting and flailing to pull the head clean off, promptly swallowing the cranium whole with its second rapejaw.

Doomguy swung Fuckslayer at a group of demons, snapping and shredding each of them in half. He then used the momentum to cast Fuckslayer into the air, where it arced through the sky and dug its way through a Cacodemon's fucking face, and then immediately down a Mancubus's throat, where the chainsaw ate away at the beast from the inside, heating and tearing until the demon was shredded into a fleshy, wet mess of split bone and boiled organs.

Doomguy raised his arm and grasped at the air, calling Fuckslayer to return. The guitar hovered from the corpse, and shot through the air, showering a curtain of blood as it flew back to its master.

He slammed the guitar's body into the ground, sending a massive, fiery shockwave through the cliffscape. Rocks tumbled, lava plumed, and demons fell into the slimy pits as Fuckslayer roared and screamed with pure wrath and lust. For a brief moment, Doomguy thought he heard Fuckslayer _laugh_. A wicked, irate, perverted cackle, that seemed to last no more than a second. Doomguy simply assumed that it had been birthed from his own twisted imagination. He was wrong.


	6. Robot Jocks

The unstable cliffs were now shifting and tumbling straight into the ravines of rape eels. Doomguy dashed across a few crumbled pathways, punching and pushing demons off the mountain as he went. A helicopter was now hovering about.

"Look! It's Doomguy!" cried the minigunner.

"Ok" said the pilot.

The weaponized rescue helicopter then gently hovered over to Doomguy, who stomped upon a rock and made his final, faithful leap for the chopper. The jump was so badass, it was like he was flying. Using Fuckslayer, Doomguy turned the S-92 into three AH-64s, a Blackhawk, and multiple space dragons that were all glued to each other with their own semen. Doomguy landed sideways and super cool in the seat, still jamming and rocking as hard as fuck.

Then, the Mechademon appeared, summoned from the darkest, bloodiest, hottest crevices of Hell.

60 feet at the shoulders, it made the Cyberdemon look like a little pansy pussiieeee. Hydraulics, pulsing with blood and twisting with metal chain, titanium claws and bladed knuckles, curly horns carved and laced with pentagrams, and a twisted, toothy grin. Muscles stretched and fused with plates of metal and rubbery plastic, engines were embedded into every imaginable section of its form, and it had guns everywhere. Even its dick was made of guns.

Doomguy grabbed a Pacific Rim DVD that had dry cum all over it and then he threw it into the helicopter abomination's engine, instantly transforming it into a giant fucking badass robot that had a helicopter for a dick. And the helicopter had a gun for a dick too, as helicopters do.

Doomguy struck another riff on Fuckslayer, summoning a giant robot version of Fuckslayer within the Doommech's grasp. Using pure, unadulterated badassery, Doomguy telepathically connected himself to the robot, controlling it as if it were his own badass body. He uppercutted the Mechademon.

The Mechademon stumbled, then spat blood and teeth to the side, before lunging at the other droid. Doomguy pulled it into a headlock, grabbed a handful of rape eels, and shoved them into the Mechademon's mouth. They immediately began to rape and murder and eat and rape all of the pilot demons within, significantly reducing the Mechademon's coordination.

Still, the monster's life and aggression persisted; maybe even more lively than before. The Mechademon thrust its hand into the ground and pulled an ancient sword from the earth, perhaps from the very bowels of Hell itself. It stabbed at Doomguy's mech, but its attacks were skillfully blocked by the lustful chainsaw edge of Fuckslayer. The two continued to fight, fencing artfully with their twisted, crooked weapons.

Doomguy swept Fuckslayer at the Mechademon's torso, cutting a deep wound where it's kidneys would've been, ripping and stretching the gluey flesh by catching it on the saw's edge. The demon bellowed with pain, then aggressively forced itself upon the Doommech, tossing the sword to the side in order to rip with its claws. The Mechademon's desire for revenge was starting to give it the upper-hand in the battle; though this could not last for long. Doomguy was far, far more pissed off.

Using the sacred, warped memories of Fuckslayer, Doomguy erected his robot's groinsaw. He thrust it into the Mechademon's gut, pulling, cutting, pushing, tearing and crunching until he had splintered and liquified every last bit of its hot, flesh and metal viscera. Doomguy pulled out and then hefted the lifeless corpse away from his Doommech, rolling and shoving it over into yet another pit of rape eels. The groinsaw spat a plume of exhaust.

The pilot and the minigunner cheered, popping champagne and flailing jazz hands as the Doommech transformed back into an attack helijet and rocketed off into space.


	7. In space, no one can hear you cream.

Space was boring.

There were no demons to kill... yet.

Solemnly and tiredly, Doomguy poured some champagne onto his visor. Then he took whiskey, and poured that on his visor, too. He really wanted to kill demons. A _lot_. But there were no demons right now, so he had to wash away his sorrows by pretending to drink.

The pilot then came before Doomguy, greeting him respectfully.

"Howdy, Doomslayer. I've always wanted to meet you, and, now— I hope ya don't mind me askin', but could I get an autograph?"

The pilot procured a revolver from her pocket, gently facing the backend toward Doomguy. Onto the gun, he used Fuckslayer's magic to etch a fiery green rune: a jagged, angrily sketched spelling of his sacred name. The pilot squealed, as the minigunner meandered into the chamber.

"When I was 15 I had eh poster of you in my room," mumbled the minigunner. "I hope you don't mind but I accidentally came on it once."

Doomguy shrugged. He'd seen so much semen in the past hour that it didn't really bother him anymore.

Suddenly, the entire ship rumbled and creaked, the lights flickering and sparking in the air. The minigunner suddenly began to gag and wheeze, before throwing himself backwards onto a table, thrashing uncontrollably. Eventually, the seizure-like motions subsided, and he began to cry, softly.

The pilot dashed over to him. "Shit, are ya okay?"

"GARLAaAGRLAGRLarg" said the minigunner, as a larval Xenodemon snapped through his ribcage, violently twisting to free itself from his innards.

The Xenodemon immediately lunged for the pilot, grabbing her in the fucking face and subsequently trying to drag her fucking face into the corpse's hot, hellish guts.

The minigunner's body was in the first steps of becoming a Gore Nest, so Doomguy waltzed over and ripped its fucking heart out, exploding the corpse into a shower of steamy guts. Angrily, he nabbed the larva by the tail, and promptly gripped its twisted, featureless face as well, before pulling relentlessly; pulling until he could hear the sharp, deep pop, then the sticky, cloth-like tearing, and finally the faint wet sound of pressurized blood and liquified organs jetting out onto the floor. There was a final slap as he flung the limp, tattered demon body-halves onto the wall, where they stuck for a few moments. They then slid downwards, plopping pathetically onto the floor.

The pilot dabbled her face-wounds clean with the cloth of her uniform, then stuttered. "Holy, sh... I'm.. I'm _alive_. Thank you, holy shit... _Thank_ you."

Doomguy shrugged, and pat the pilot on the back. As they stood in the dim, flickering darkness, the ship continued to become completely overrun by the Xenodemons; those bastards could fuck, spread, and grow faster than roaches. With Fuckslayer, Doomguy cut open a portal back to the pilot's grandma's house, so she could escape the demonic infiltration.

"Hey," said the pilot. "Maybe one day, we can meet agai—"

The portal snapped shut, as Doomguy revved up Fuckslayer's twisted, never-dulling saw. It thirsted.

* * *

Doomguy leapt onto an adult Xenodemon's back, pinning it to the floor. He thrust his arms forward, gripping both of the demon's jaws so hard that its translucent teeth crumbled and snapped between his fingers. He began to pull, crisply cracking the creature's mandible and maxilla apart until its entire skull had been ripped in half. He took Fuckslayer and raked it down the screaming, struggling beast's spine, bringing the creature's suffering to a halt.

He then threw Fuckslayer like a javelin, flinging it straight through every corridor and wall so it could shred clean-cut holes through every Xenodemon it found, with utmost badassery. (R.I.P. Yondu you were an inspiration to all of us) Doomguy raised his hand, catching the blood-swathed Fuckslayer in his grasp like a boomerang, before twirling it around in one hand like a baton.

Quietly, he marched to the cockpit, and released the space dragons into their natural habitat, before ejecting the cockpit and letting the overrun spaceship fucking explode into a fiery, metal-ly bloody mess. As he cruised away in the detached pod, a bunch of demon limbs smacked and smeared around on the windshield.

Doomguy turned on the windshield wipers.


	8. Gladiator

Doomguy quietly crawled and clambered from the crashed cockpit, and glanced about his surroundings. He found himself in an astral gladiator arena, the crowd already cheering him on.

On the other side of the ring, a ferocious demon space grizzly emerged, armored from head to heel with sheets of bleached bones, each section carved intricately with corrupted ursine deities. Furiously, the bear began to charge. Doomguy popped his knuckles, as he withdrew a Pokéball from his pocket.

Doomguy clicked the button with eagerness and tossed the capsule forward, unleashing a formidable hawk-like creature, of great wingspan. It whistled and shrieked valorously, waiting patiently for a command, even as the grizzly approached head-on.

Doomguy silently motioned forward, tossing his hand about subtly. The hawkbeast swept its wings, unleashing a blade of air, immediately cutting the adjacent grizzly in half, lengthwise, in a sharp rain of blood and fur. Doomguy began to stroke the top of the avian's bloodstained yellow crest, before calling it back into its sphere. He began to rub his hands, enthusiastically.

Next into the arena entered a toaster, carted along by a set of weak wheels. It bumped into Doomguy's ankle, repeatedly, until he gently pushed it over onto the ground. The crowd slathered and cheered with savagery, tossing half-eaten nachos and snippets of flowers into the pit. The toaster sighed.

Then came the next machine. Impatiently, it tore through into the arena before the walls could be lifted, immediately slathering and dripping oily saliva onto the wet, viscera-glazed dirt. Its long, twisted legs brought it to a high stance, and it began to strut around, scanning the area with its cyclopean camera. Though it was bulky, constructed mainly of thick armor tablets, the beast was unnaturally flexible and agile, quietly twisting across the other side of the ring, slinking and stalking like some sort of lanky, predatory bird. It eventually came to a quiet halt.

The crowd hollered and booed as the robot remained locked in inaction. A few angered attendees clambered to the side, clawing at one another until one of the poor creatures had fallen into the pit. The victor cheered from above, as the defeated writhed in pain and dust, sobbing and pushing himself back against the wall. The crowd gasped; the machine had slowly turned its long, sinuous neck to examine the victim, now inching closer with gentle, puppet-like motions. It gave a wicked smile as it forced its own jagged, twisted jaws apart, suddenly lunging, engulfing and clamping the prey's upper body, snapping its ribs like crisp twigs, then jolting back to toss the prey further back. The victim howled, cried, and struggled in pain as it slid into the back of the mouth, the kicking and flailing merely causing it to sink deeper. 

The crowd cheered, screamed, and projectile vomited as the machine finally choked the bulbous, squirming lump down its throat, aggressively and painfully swallowing it straight into its mechanical gut. Calmly, it shifted around, crushing and compressing its innards like a garbage truck, slowly realigning its center of gravity whilst ignoring the gargled, weak screams that came from within. There was one last series of pops and crunches, as the whines faded to pathetic silence. The robot turned its head to Doomguy.


	9. BFFs

Doomguy withdrew Fuckslayer, and began a dark, melodic rhythm, as a neutral attempt at communication. The machine seemed enticed; it tilted its head, and soon began to prowl forward with unknown intent. Doomguy had already identified it as the physical avatar of some kind of all-consuming, all-knowing, insatiable entity; one that should certainly not be provoked in a negative way. Why was it here, out in the middle of buttfuck nowhere? Doomguy then pondered why _he_ was here, out in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. He eventually came to the stark, truthful realization that they were both here for the same reason. They were bored.

Doomguy reluctantly channeled a different kind of emotion through the guitar, the only way to ensure his own survival. It was a dark, ruthless request for friendship. Hopefully, the beast would recognize the raging power of Fuckslayer, and see Doomguy as worthy for having the ability to wield such a guitar. Intimidatingly, the bot continued to slink forward, drooling and twitching unnaturally; now seemingly in time with the rhythm. The plan seemed to be working— either that, or it was a clever ruse by the machine. Doomguy remained cautious.

Doomguy strummed lightly, playing a tune which roughly translated to "hey motherfucker, wanna kill all demons?"

The robot suddenly unleashed a guttural, hollow roar, which Doomguy could not interpret. However, the bellowing appeared to harmonize with the music quite nicely— bringing the heavy, dark melody down at least 7 octaves. The roar then faded to a raspy, metallic growl, as the robot tilted its head once again. It now stood directly by Doomguy, quietly glaring down upon him.

Using the ancient, zen-like techniques that had been passed onto him by the Canadians, Doomguy reached out his hand in an offer of friendship. Immediately, a jet-black arm shot from the machine's throat, latching to Doomguy's forearm in the slimiest, most violent handshake to ever occur upon this astral plane.

The machine then freed the arm from its grasp, contorting itself backwards and then dashing to the edge of the arena. Cheerfully, it clambered up the wall, voraciously ripping through stone and metal like butter, before indiscriminately consuming the audience.


	10. Scuba Ninjas

Doomguy raised a cup of tea. He gently washed some of it over his visor, and after he met satisfaction, he tilted the cup away. He then lowered his hand, quietly, before accidentally crushing the entire cup in his fist.

Doomguy brushed the ceramic shards from his lap, then took a biscuit from a plate. He crumbled it upon his visor, before instinctually kicking over the table. The machine growled softly, seemingly offended.

Doomguy immediately grabbed the table, and put it back to its previous position, as quickly as physically possible. He then took the tattered tablecloth, and attempted to drape it back upon the table, but the result was wrinkly, and crooked. The machine didn't seem to care.

Doomguy glanced around, quietly and awkwardly. He wanted to go kill demons; and there weren't any fucking demons here. Quietly, he withdrew Fuckslayer and began a soft, yet brutally dark melody. The machine began to drip snot.

 

Later in the day, Doomguy had come upon a marvelous castle. It was jagged and geometric, almost artificial— but it was no less impressive in stature and scale. Doomguy advanced forward and knocked on the heraldic, dragon-laced door.

A scuba ninja emerged.

"Oh," mumbled the scuba ninja, apathetically and unsurprised. "It's you."

Doomguy shrugged.

Politely, the ninja guided Doomguy through the door, into the main hall.

The cave-like corridor was utterly massive, artfully sculpted with stone statues of scuba ninja kings, from ages long past, from ages yet to come, and from ages to never be. Some of the busts were donned with arbors of flowers and corals, others decked with pressurized tubes and whirring machinery. Nearly all of them had a bright blue light sunken into the eye sockets, which gazed down onto the passerby with unknown intent.

"Oh, also— you've arrived just in time," muttered the ninja. "Today, we hold our inclusive celebration of all scuba ninjas and honorary scuba ninjas. Would you like to join us, sir?"

Doomguy shrugged.

 

The courtyard was dotted with banners and torches, that unpredictably tossed and flicked in the breeze. As powerful music chimed in the background, enchanted confetti rained upon the costumed performers, colorfully wafting through the crowd. Wizards sat upon their lawnchairs, scattering brilliant fireworks and smoky laser displays, while children of all species frolicked upon the cobble and grass to imagine and act their own scuba-ninja-based RPG adventures. Doomguy did not want to interrupt them, but his presence commanded all attention, whether or not he desired it. A few of the children bowed.

"To all scuba ninjas and all honorary scuba ninjas," said the scuba shogun, through his snorkel. "We now begin tonight's celebration. We stand here to honor a thousand generations of scuba ninjas, and a thousand more to come!"

He then bowed.

Doomguy clapped politely, along with the rest of the crowd, but he couldn't help but feel as if something was _off._ He had been to this world many times, slaughtering demons during times of siege. Once those demonic invasions had been obliterated, the realm adopted a peaceful, spiritual aura— and that aura was currently absent. Something dark was looming, like a thundercloud on the prairie horizon. Doomguy glanced around, to see if anyone else had noticed; but the others remained oblivious to the danger. It seemed that he was alone.


	11. Action Sequence #9

The sky grew dark with smoke and distant yellow fire. Screams rang out, and children hid behind their mothers, as the adversaries of Hell returned from the dark realm. They had come to assassinate the shogun, and take this world as their own, once and for all.

Doomguy unsheathed Fuckslayer, and summoned a great, holy wall of lightning to protect the innocents. He immediately took the guitar's neck to a group of demons, snapping and ripping through them in a quick bolt of blood and fire. Swiftly, with the skills of shadow, a trio of scuba ninjas leapt behind Doomguy, to assist him with the battle.

"I never thought this day would come," mumbled one of the ninjas. "The demons have returned, to slaughter our leader! I mean, I'm no fan of feudalism, but he's a pretty liberal dude. We cannot let this happen!"

Doomguy did not like to get involved in politics, regardless of which side it was on, but he continued to help. Furiously, he jammed a medley of _The Imp's Song_ and _Dark Halls_ , summoning barrels of green, volatile waste from thin air. He then kicked a barrel into an Imp, just as it had launched its fireball. The barrel collided with the flame, instantly combusting into a bright, toxic plume that singed and melted the demon's skin away until it was nothing but a wiry frame of charred bones. Doomguy then revved up Fuckslayer's saw, delightfully reveling in the spray of meat and bone as he dug the blade into a Hell Knight's skull. He withdrew it, then quietly picked a few sinuses out of the chain, before impaling multiple tiny Cacodemons onto it like a kabob. They were like those little fucking fruit gushers, but so much more fucking SATISFYING.

One of the scuba ninjas took a pufferfish from his pocket, and clambered upon a Mancubus's shoulders. Then, with a powerful warcry, he shoved the pufferfish into the creature's esophagus, where it promptly inflated. The Mancubus screamed and thrashed as the barbs ripped it apart from the inside, where they eventually punctured an artery and began a chain reaction, self-destructing the beast from the inside. What remained of the demon's gut then slid out onto the courtyard, as the weighted skull slowly bowed the bare spine over like the ornament on charlie brown's christmas tree.

The ninja plunged his fist into the spilt guts, and joyfully reclaimed his pufferfish friend. It promptly deflated, launching a stream of demon salvia and liquified guts all over its master, before slowly relaxing its barbs and allowing them to fold back across its surface. The ninja hugged it.

The second ninja flung a shuriken at a Pinky, grazing a deep cut along its midsection. Angered, the beast exhaled a wisp of flame, before charging in an attempt to corner the ninja— but in an instant, then ninja backflipped onto its back, gripping its horns like the handles of a motorcycle, before the monster could even react. The ninja pulled a massive, elemental hacksaw from her pocket, and brought it to the demon's neck, sawing and digging through its throat and bones at literal breakneck speeds. The bulky, horned head then fell to the cobbled road with a thud.

The third ninja was simply, a shark. A ninja shark. He bit the limbs of demons as he flopped and flailed about, twisting the appendages from their sockets and leaving a messy trail of detached limbs and bloody carnage in his wake. Occasionally, he and the other ninjas would hi-five one another, albeit awkwardly.

A big-ass fat Cacodemon then drifted over to the shogun's hiding place, where the massive beast began to nip at his ankles.

"Oh no!" cried the shogun, as he swatted at the demon. "Bad demon! No!"

Doomguy's badass ears heard the meek cries, even over the screams of demons, the shifting bowels of Hell, and the bellowing, bendy tones that emanated from his own gutsoaked guitar. Quickly, he began to look for the shogun, but he was surrounded and obstructed by all levels of chaos. Suddenly, a Hell Knight leapt from the flames to corner him, pinning him to the wall and unleashing a nasty, smelly roar in his face. Angrily as fuck, Doomguy thrust his double-barreled shotgun deep into the demon's mouth, shoving the gun down into its throat to blast its guts apart in a spray of hot pellets. Doomguy winked at the corpse and reminded himself to use a bigger gun later, for purely scientific reasons.

Hurriedly, Doomguy continued his search for the shogun. Briefly, he glanced over his shoulder, to see his ninja friends lost in the fight; far too busy to help him directly. They were holding the demons back from the citizens, and any distraction could put everyone's lives at risk. Doomguy had to continue the search alone. He looked under laundry baskets, in secret corridors, and he even checked the bathroom stalls, but the shogun wasn't there.

At last, Doomguy found the shogun nestled in the corner of the dragon stables; he was grasping his knees, rocking around in the fetal position.

"Stop!" said the shogun. "You little bitch, that tickles!"

The Cacodemon was _still_ continuing to nibble at his toes, and Doomguy wasn't sure how to fucking kill the fucking thing without also fucking killing the fucking shogun. He also could not deny the intense sexual tension in the room. Reluctantly, he took a moment to think about how to rescue the shogun _without_ also turning him into a mashy wet mass of blood and charred robes.

The very moment that Doomguy was ready to enact his plan, metal claws rapidly tore through the top of the building, pulling away material and digging into the chamber effortlessly. A cluster of prehensile, steel-plated tongues then slithered from the roof, grabbing, strangling, and dragging the Cacodemon up towards the ruptured ceiling. The demon struggled, but the plates and spines cut into its hide, preventing escape.

Doomguy then caught the gaze of an infrared camera. Above the stables stood the machine, here to help rescue the shogun! Maybe friendship wasn't such a bad deal after all— er— Doomguy quickly wiped the positive thoughts from his brain, and calmly watched as the machine yanked its tongues back to pull the Cacodemon straight into its gaping, dripping maw. It wheezed and retched for a moment, before choking and engulfing the creature whole, straight down its fucking throat. Briefly, it stretched, writhed and flexed its swollen neck, in order to work the prey into its body— which fought the whole way down. Quietly, the machine began to salivate all over everything, like a fucking bumbling idiot.

"Oh my god," mumbled the shogun. "Finally! I'm free!"

Then it ate the shogun too.


	12. ANGRY

Pissed as fuck, Doomguy grabbed a clump of smoldering, steamy dragon shit, and threw it at the robot's face. It whined, grumbled, and then hastily strode away, to go and gluttonously devour more demons. Now, even more pissed, Doomguy stomped and kicked at the hay, furiously remembering why he didn't like to have friends. They always got involved in his demon killing endeavors, and made things so bloody difficult— and not the good kind of bloody. Motherfuckers! World domination was imminent, and the demons were gonna have it easy 'cause the shogun is fucking dead now. Doomguy was the last thing standing between here, and hell.

Doomguy punched Fuckslayer until it shifted and warped into a mangled 4-necked guitar. He immediately rocked the fuck out, violently unleashing the arpeggios and duets from _I Sawed the Demons_. The stables trembled and quivered in the music's wake, as Doomguy leapt to the air and hovered through the ceiling, before leaping and colliding back onto the battlefield with a crash.

Playing the instrument with his mind, Doomguy swung Fuckslayer atop a demon, snapping its neck and crushing its body into a mangled mess, instantly causing its bones to snap and tear through its own skin. He took the demon's flattened corpse and threw it upon another demon, blinding it with a coat of blood. Then, he punched the other demon so hard that every bone in its body exploded into splinters, cutting through its muscle and turning its corpse into some kind of ugly-ass hedgehog.

Just as Doomguy was about to ram a grenade down a Mancubus's throat, his machine acquaintance leapt from the blazing frame of a burning building and nabbed the demon by its ankles, sadistically dragging it back within the fiery prison. Furiously, Doomguy threw the grenade at a different demon so fucking hard that the grenade got stuck in its chest cavity. Abruptly, the demon expanded into a fiery cloud of hot, chunky mist. Doomguy was seething with rage. He knew the robot was trying to help but it was just fucking annoying and GRAAAAH

Doomguy grabbed two demons by the backs of their skulls, and rammed them together, merging their faces as one in a sudden, crunchy gush of juices. It was kind of sticky, but who gives a shit? Whilst practically foaming at the mouth, Doomguy turned, and thrust his hand into another demon's back, carefully working his hand around to detach the ribs from the spine. Furiously, he pulled the bony column from its crevice, flailing it through the air; fascia and blood slung from the vertebrae, glittering above the fire like garnets. Doomguy then did shove the spine up a demon's ass.

The demon was rushed to the demon hospital, but he died due to severe internal injuries.

 

"Why are you so angry," asked ninja shark.

Doomguy shrugged.

"You know dude, I think you need to learn to work with others," continued the shark. "Even when we were fighting together, back there— everybody just kinda ran off, and did their own thing. We could probably kill a hell of a lot more demons if we made an effort to stick together. Your new robot friend could help, too."

Doomguy scoffed, silently. I mean, what is this, a fucking 80s cartoon? Doomguy kills _all_ the demons, alone. All of them. ALONE. He's done it like, what... 5 times? And he'll gladly do it again. Why does he need _friends_ to do it, too? _Sigh._

Reluctantly, Doomguy shook the shark's pectoral fin.

Suddenly, the rest of the ninjas all cartwheeled over to Doomguy and formed a human pyramid, with the shark at its peak. The pyramid then disassembled, as the ninjas went around to punch and kick the demons. Doomguy punched and kicked the demons with them, as he felt inclined to, but it became tedious. His boredom-induced rage only grew and grew until he got so fucking pissed that he kicked a demon so fucking hard that it flew into the air and smacked onto the robot's face. The robot promptly swallowed it.

The ninjas just stared, blankly.

Then, Doomguy got a brilliant idea.

That fucking robot... it was like a gigantic trashcan. An animate garbage disposal. That beastly bastard was nothing but gut. A big, blundering oaf that just kept eating and eating, basically just vaporizing and assimilating everything from existence. No waste, no worries, no complications, _no consequences._ It was like a blender. An incinerator. A walking stomach... a... pfffhghng... yea, you get the point.

Doomguy instructed the ninjas to kick the demons at the robot. Excitedly and politely, they obliged. The result was rather similar to a bean bag toss. But with demons. And a motherfucking voracious, reality-twisting mechanical horror.

Doomguy bounced up and down, excitedly, as he lunged forward and fought a Hell Knight head on. Pounding with adrenaline, Doomguy withdrew a chaingun from his pocket. (The belt-fed gatling-style kind, not the linkless autocannon kind).

Doomguy grabbed the demon's mandible and thrust the chaingun into its mouth, and then FUCKING FORCED IT TO FUCKING DEEPTHROAT THE EVERLIVING FUCK OUT OF THAT STEELY HARD MULTI-BARRELED MIRACLE OF ENGINEERING.

The demon entered a state of severe shock, unable to scream because the slippery gun had stretched its throat apart and crushed its trachea like a fucking cardboard tube. Doomguy then held down the trigger, obliterating the demon's viscera in an armor piercing spray, instantly jetting a cloud of fiery chum onto the ground.


	13. DISCUSTENG

At last, after many grueling and disgusting minutes of battle, the demons had been defeated. A few stragglers attempted to retreat, but were quickly captured and consumed by the machine.

 

The skies cleared, and the ninjas summoned plumes of confetti using their spells, cheering and skipping about with glee. They formed a crowd, lifting Doomguy to the air to carry him, ceremoniously. Awkwardly, Doomguy motioned to the dragon stables, but everyone was too busy mopping up all the smoldering demon guts to notice that the shogun was dead.

A ninja requested Doomguy to jam _Intermission from Doom_ , but clearly, it was not appropriate. Doomguy angrily jammed an almost unrecognizable remix of it, that translated to "guys the robot fucking ate the shogun and now he's dead"

The ninjas gasped.

One fell to his knees. "NOOOO!"

Softly, the robot retched a bit.

"This is horrible!" screamed the ninjas, as they wept simultaneously. "Awful!"

"Unspeakable!"

"Horrendous!" "Unacceptable!"

"Terrible!" "Devastating!""Inconceivable!"

"Nefarious!" __

__ "Absolutely _HORRIFYING!"_

One ninja paged through a thesaurus.

"This is very, very bad!"

Violently, the robot choked and jolted about, coughing and gargling violently. It retched again, but the ninjas were too sad to notice. They continued to mourn, patting each other on the back, whilst singing sad karaoke songs. Many were now too distraught to mop the demon innards up, so they began to hug their bloodied mops instead, for comfort.

The robot suddenly struggled, extended its neck, and promptly disgorged the shogun's compressed, viscid corpse onto the ground, with a sudden cold, wet smack.

The ninjas gasped yet again, raising their hands to cover their cloth-covered faces.

"The shogun lives!" cried one.

They ran to the corpse, and bowed before it, propping it upon a lawn chair.

"The demons have been defeated, sir," said one ninja, as he kissed the shogun's gelatinous, partially-digested hand. The arm immediately fell off.

"My apologies, sir!" blurted the ninja, as he nervously and gently lodged the arm back into its place.

The whole body then slumped over, with a crunch. Its ribs were flattened at unnatural angles, now piercing through the skin; its legs faded not into feet, but into a meaty, red trail of dissolved muscle. The bones were but a dark, marrowy thread, and even the silken robes had begun their disintegration long ago.

"We have got to get you cleaned up, sir," mumbled another ninja, as she scraped the gluey, iridescent chyme from his surface. The skin began to slide off, as a deluge of inorganic, greasy saliva bursted from the carcass's lungs; previously suffocated in a slow, cruel manner. The innards had apparently been reduced to a mashy, maroon pulp as well.

Were the ninjas truly so clueless, or was this a clever illusion set in place by the machine? Was it all part of some sick joke, one that Doomguy was not a part of— or something far more bizarre? Something far more disturbing? Doomguy desperately did not want to know the answers. It seemed to be nothing but incomprehensible nonsense.

Quietly, he cut open a portal, and left the scene.


	14. Stupid

Doomguy punched his proton pack. It was jamming up, or running out of juice, or... something. He wasn't actually sure how it was supposed to work, and that pissed him off. Still, it was given to him as a gift, and _usually_ it worked well enough that he wouldn't dare toss it away. But he was still pissed off.

Angrily, he whacked a ghost demon with the nozzle, knocking it out cold. It stayed out far, far too long, and eventually developed a very minor case of serious brain damage. Doomguy then pinned another demon to the floor, in order to grab its ankle. He twisted the leg around, with a deep snap, and started kicking the demon in its own fucking face with its own fucking leg.

Doomguy whistled. His motorcycle then erupted from the earth, carving through the stone with its saw-blade tires, melting away the crust of the earth with its raging, boiling engine. It puttered and roared, before purring and drifting, peeling out and over to its master's side. Doomguy mounted it, immediately gunning it off onto the highway. He needed to go fast. He needed to go _faster._

He started running over zombies. There were a lot of them.

He started to run over pirate zombies, too. There were not as many of those, but still quite a lot. Sometimes he stopped, and awkwardly walked the bike backwards, in order to crush any skulls that he happened to miss earlier. Then he sped off again.

Doomguy sighed. He had been planning to paint his motorcycle red with all the paint he received from the guys in the hangar, but since he ran over so many zombies, he wouldn't even have to worry about it. He sighed again, pulled over, and gifted the paint to a small family of paint farmers.

"Thank you for saving us from the zombies," said the paint farmer's farmer son.

Doomguy nodded. He rode his motorcycle into the ocean.


	15. Stupider

"The currents can obey only one. Only one man is worthy of the sea. You sit there on your throne, slouching, lying— and I refuse to witness it any longer! You have corrupted these waters long enough!"

The mercopter guard withdrew a trident with his telekinesis powers, and began to approach the old, rusty sea king.

"You fool," wheezed the sea king, with his bubbly engines. "Guards! Attack!"

The guards glanced about with their thermal cameras.

"No," said the AH-6 on the left, as he gazed to his AH-64 brother. "We are here to protect the people of Mercoptropolis. You hold no interest in their well being! You are a tyrant!"

The AH-6 unleashed a flurry of heavy bullets into the water, from the tip of his enchanted marinigun. They didn't go very far, quickly losing momentum, either tapping onto the sea king's fuselage, or sinking to the cobbled palace floor.

"Hahaha you fool, you were too far away, and also, you are a bitch," said the sea king. "I'm a villain. Everyone is a bitch except me!"

"You're the worst sea king ever," said the AH-64. "Even the Pokémon is better than you... cunt."

The sea king gasped. "Fuck you!" he said.

"No you"

"No, _you"_

The AH-64 cried.

Then, Doomguy suddenly crashed through the Atlantean ceiling, slowly falling to the floor, whilst still on his bike. It bubbled and purred, as it continued to sink. This lasted for at least several minutes; the helicopters simply staring as the motorbike descended. Eventually, it made contact with the floor. Doomguy then swam over to the sea king and punched him so hard that he teleported into another dimension consisting entirely of Seakings. The Pokémon, of course. Every atom, every object, every single thing in all of that existence— it was a Seaking. An endless, colossal deluge of horned fish, flopping and shrieking eternally.

"Wow thanks," said the mercopter guard, as he put his trident back into his pocket. "You just liberated our whole city, you're like a super cool dude."

Doomguy didn't really like compliments.

"Hey mister spaysh mareen, wanna fuck?" assed the AH-6.

"Yea you have a lot of powers," said the AH-64. "You're clearly very important, so we should do kinky things. Because, that's what we do to important people."

Doomguy shook his head, urgently. He wasn't sure how to explain that he was exclusively sexually attracted to killing demons— OH FUCK NEVERMIND ITS A TELEPATH. THE HELICOPTER JUST READ HIS FUCKING MIND WHAT THE FUCK

"You like killing demons, oh my," said the AH-6. "I will put this on my bdsm blog."

The helicopter took a few minutes to get out his laptop and awkwardly type and post dirt about Doomguy.

Doomguy was very uncomfortable. He had nothing against homosexuality, helicopters, or homosexual helicopters, but it just wasn't his thing. He wanted to go kill demons. He was also somewhat offended by how rude they were being, you know, posting his intrusive thoughts on the internet and all. But in the end, it didn't matter, because HOLY SHIT DEMONS

A big fairy shrimp demon bursted out of the floor and promptly stole the AH-6's soul.

"Oh what the fuck, we _do_ have souls?" screamed the AH-64.

Doomguy briefly had a moral dilemma but then he got too pissed off to think about it any longer. He drove his motorcycle onto the demon's face, and angrily dug the sawtires into its carapace. It died


	16. Mercoptropolis

Doomguy poured a bag of cocaine into his motorcycle's fuel tank. It gurgled, and then the engine began to hum and roar the riff from _Painkiller_. He wheelied over, and then gave the AH-6's soul back— but only on the condition that he would delete all the blog posts and apologize for intruding on Doomguy's personal lifestyle. Kindly, the helicopter agreed.

"Mercoptropolis is my city," mumbled the helicopter, clearly shaken. "I was irresponsible, earlier— and I ask of you to forgive me."

Doomguy nodded and shrugged.

"Please— allow me to come with you. I will help you kill the demons."

Doomguy got flashbacks to that stupid fucking disgusting vorephiliac robot whatever the fuck, and then he got really pissed off. He shook his head, calmly gesturing for the helicopter to leave. The AH-6 stared at him silently, for a few moments.

"It's... it's alright," he whined, sobbing quietly. "I understand."

* * *

Doomguy punched his motorbike, spontaneously transforming it into a bladed, aquatic monstrosity. It resembled a jet ski, one that operated underwater with nothing but anger, armor and blades. It also operated on cocaine but that was besides the point.

Doomguy withdrew Fuckslayer from his pocket, and took its blade to a group of lanky fishdemons. Their blood spilt into the water, in the shape of a black plume— but then it dispersed into the ocean, becoming so diluted that it could not be absorbed by Fuckslayer. Of course, Doomguy still believed he had enough blood-fuel to continue, and so he swiftly rode over to a possessed shark, slicing it open from the chin to the claspers. The shark's guts were far too rotted and waterlogged, and again, the blood jetted out into the sea, rather than into the blade itself. Fuckslayer sputtered and clicked, as it spat out a few bubbles of exhaust.

Doomguy assimilated the proton pack into Fuckslayer, in an attempt to lengthen its fuel-life. The guitar's blade suddenly developed a patina of two-dimensional orange lightning and neon blue sparks, as black tubing and nuclear systems rooted within its engine— but it only continued to choke and starve. It rattled, and its purrs became choppy, no matter how hard Doomguy revved the beast.

Doomguy started whacking a bunch of fishdemons with Fuckslayer's body, in a last ditch attempt. The guitar was losing its integrity now, still unable to metabolize the blood. Defeatedly, Doomguy sheathed Fuckslayer back into his pocket, giving it some time to rest. Vengefully, he took a piece of bleached coral and stabbed a fishdemon in the fucking eye, before kicking its corpse so hard that it formed a vacuum underwater, kinda like one of them badass mantis shrimps. The vacuum sucked all the other fishdemons in and then it fucking exploded them all into a fucking mess.

But there were still more fishdemons. More sharks, squid— hell, there were even shoggoths now. Doomguy put on his cardboard solar eclipse glasses so he wouldn't go crazy from seeing all these fucking eldritch monstrosities. I mean, normally he didn't need the glasses but he was too tired for this shit.

Doomguy withdrew his combat shotgun and planted it onto a shoggoth's forehead. He pulled the trigger— but— _but nothing happened._ Shit! The mercopters had enchanted firearms and cannons that could work underwater (kind of). Doomguy forgot that he didn't have that. Hell, he didn't even have Fuckslayer. He was almost out of luck. If more demons started to attack, even _he_ could become overwhelmed.

Then the shoggoth wrapped its tentacle around Doomguy's ankle. Its eyes widened as it brought its jaws down upon his toes, scraping his boot and being very uncomfortable in general. Doomguy had seen hentai before and he started getting really, really pissed off because this wasn't doing anything for him. Because he was exclusively attracted to killing demons. Even though there were a lot of fucking demons right now, Doomguy was still experiencing some rather intense sexual frustration (don't judge).

Doomguy punched the shoggoth until it exploded. Then, he was so fucking mad that he was going to piss on its fucking tattered ugly ass-poodle corpse— but he forgot he was underwater. He kicked it instead.


	17. Crab demons crab demons

A lobsterdemon then clambered over the rocks, billowing clouds of sand up into the water. It split its four jaws apart, revealing its scorpionesque mandible grabbers. It started to nip at Doomguy's nips. He wrestled it away, before kicking one of its legs, snapping it backwards. He began to pull the meat out of its leg, kind of like the psychopathic shit I did to grasshoppers when I was 6. Then Doomguy slapped it in the face with its own leg meat.

The lobsterdemon suddenly grabbed the leg meat, pervertedly chowing it down, before tickling Doomguy's nips with its antennae. How it tickled his nips through the armor, no one knows. But it _did_ happen, and we don't like to talk about it. Doomguy got really uncomfortable and upset so he started punching the lobsterdemon in the fucking face but then more fishdemons started appearing and oh shit there's sharks and shit and FUCK

Doomguy grabbed the fishdemon's hand and ripped it away from his forearm, careful not to rip his own arm off too. The fishfuckers were trying to dig into his flesh, those bastards! Angrily, he dropkicked a shark into the rocks, where it exploded. Then, when he wasn't paying attention, the lobsterdemon reached its big meaty claws for Doomguy's dick and that's when he got REALLY MAD.

Doomguy grabbed a used helicopter condom from one of Mercoptropolis's city bins. He filled it with seawater until it was like a balloon, and then he fucking suffocated the lobsterdemon's entire face with it. He pulled another one of its legs off and used the leg to beat all the fishdemons away from himself. But, goddamn— there was a whole horde of them. They had practically overrun the city by now.

Doomguy tried to ride his jet ski to a more strategic position, but then, the fishdemons summoned a bunch of hell-skis from Hell, immediately giving chase. Doomguy flipped them off and kept driving. Eventually, he got the assailants off his ass, and hid within a library, where he met a horde of mercopter refugees; some armed, others civilian.

Doomguy, unable to use Fuckslayer, took some steel drums from his pocket and set them out into the library floor. He played them softly, careful not to alert the demons. The gentle, tropical rhythm translated politely to "hey motherfuckers I needa gun that works underwater."

One of the armed guards approached Doomguy, examining him closely. Maybe a bit too closely. Quietly, it gifted Doomguy with a marinigun, and a rather perplexing cyber-trident. The copters _trusted_ him. They knew what he was fighting for, what he stood for— and perhaps they knew who he _was_ , too— er— they _definitely_ knew who he was. One of those fuckers had screenshotted that bdsm blog before the post got deleted.

"why are you attracted to killing demons" asked a Huey.

Doomguy "jokingly" flipped it off and rode his jet-ski back into the fray.


	18. The Shape of Murder

Doomguy hefted the marinigun up, and then crammed the belt into it, irresponsibly flailing the machine through the current. He held the trigger down and sent a bubbly spray of boiling lead into the water, straight towards those slimy fucking fishdemons. Unexpectedly, however, the bullets began to lose momentum, decelerating and sinking to the seafloor. The damn thing would only work at a dangerously close range, and even then, the rounds might not hit hard enough to take out something as tough as a lobsterdemon. Also, Doomguy really didn't want to have to touch a used helicopter condom again.

He needed to kill fast, and these fucking bullets are just too slow.

Doomguy punched the water, forming yet another death vacuum to explode a buncha demons. He was starting to get separation anxiety from Fuckslayer, and he instinctually withdrew the guitar, playing it to keep himself occupied. Its sound was far softer now, partially due to its starvation, and partially due to the distorted environment of water. He began to jam the most badass song about mermaids ever, _Murmaider_.

Doomguy continued to play Fuckslayer with his mind, as he punched and kicked the demons. The music helped him concentrate a bit, though it took a lot of effort and energy to play the guitar in its weak state. Doomguy was starting to feel... tired. He hadn't felt that in such a long time. He just needed a fucking nap, or something— but no... _No!_ Mercoptropolis needed him. He couldn't let the demons take this land too.

A fishdemon got Doomguy across the back of the neck, fraying a bit of the armor. He wasn't a huge fan of the Praetor suit because he was a hipster and it didn't let everybody see his steely abs, but at least it kept his his neck from getting cut open.

Angrily, he turned around, grabbing the demon and immediately crushing its thin, fishy face into a rock. He kind of felt bad because he had just seen that movie the shape of water but that movie also had a part where somebody fucked a fish and it was really weird so he didn't feel that bad anymore. Then he felt bad again because since he's exclusively attracted to killing demons it was really hypocritical for him to think that fucking fish was weird. Then he felt awkward for even thinking about fish fucking in the first place. Still, though, like... how do you fuck a fish? Don't they just jizz in the water after the chick fish lays eggs? So, how would a fish even know how to fuck a person? Why would a fish even feel attracted to a human person anyway? Like, wouldn't fishpeople have different criteria for sexual attraction? WHY DID THE CHICK WANNA FUCK THE FISH IN THE FIRST PLACE? SHE THAT THIRSY FOR THAT SALTY FISH DICK? DID SHE RAPE THE FISH???? WHAT THE FUCK, MAN? I GOT SO MANY QUESTIONS! SO MANY FUCKING QUEST—

Doomguy wasn't paying enough attention to notice that the fishdemons had effectively cornered him in a pretty bad alley, in an even worse hood. He continued pondering fishpeople intercourse, until he awkwardly thumped backwards into a concrete wall. Furiously, he withdrew the trident, and impaled a few demons with it, before kicking their limp punctured corpses right off of it. Apparently, the trident's cybernetic bits worked as some kind of harpoon system— eagerly, he used it to fling the trident's pointy head through the entire alley, skewering it through each and every fishdemon.

Doomguy then realized his mistake. The trident had become kind of useless. It was completely covered in corpses. All of it. It was nothing more than a decorative chain of bloody, mostly dead demons. Disappointedly, he let the trident's bloody handle drift to the side as he started punching the fuck out of the other fishdemons. He wasn't even sure how to get out of the alley, now, goddamn... there were just too many fucking fishdemons! There had to be hundreds. HUNDREDS!

The fishdemons were trying to rip and tear his guts. Doomguy was _mad_.

 _He_ was the one supposed to be ripping and tearing guts. But... he couldn't... His trident was fucked, the marinigun wasn't gonna cut it, and Fuckslayer was Fuckedslayer. He also hadn't slept in several years— but he couldn't just fucking die _now_. Not after all he'd done, and certainly not after all he _hadn't_ done!

Doomguy felt a sudden burst of energy and courage as a ethereal orb descended upon him. Before he began his Berserk, he glanced to the watery distance— and his eyes were greeted by the faces of three water-treading scuba ninjas... and the twisted jaw of a massive robotic beast, a pair of demon legs still flailing from its mouth.

"The robot said you were in trouble," gargled the scuba ninja on the left.

"He said you needed some kind of power-up," bubbled the ninja on the right. "We came as fast as we could to get it to you!"

Doomguy stared a bit. Then, he smiled.

It was a weird feeling. His face muscles kind of hurt when he did it, but still, it felt good. He wasn't really sure if he was smiling due to happiness, gratefulness, or just pure sadistic euphoria, so it was probably a combination of all three, but... it was still smiling.

Doomguy then did mow through the demons. He was punching them in half, tearing them in half, pulling their guts out and making them eat their own guts, slapping them like the stupid bitches that they are, punching their skulls so that their brains exploded everywhere, and even shoving his foot up their ass to kick them so hard that they flew out of the ocean and into the sky where they were promptly devoured by hordes of voracious, muscly man-gulls. Doomguy also killed them.


	19. The Reunion

The AH-6 from before suddenly fluttered and bubbled down to the alleyway. He withdrew his trident, stabbing demons with it, whilst also splattering them with his marinigun.

"I know you told me to stay behind, dude," said the mercopter, "But it looked like you were in trouble and I wanted to stare at your ass more."

Doomguy was still berserking the fuck out of everything, far, far too distracted too even care about the helicopter, or his ass. Instead he was focused on mauling the demon's asses into countless piles of unrecognizable, bloody dismembered pieces.

Suddenly, a portal opened and a big fucking nuclear waterproof AC-47 popped out, chugging, roaring, and using its propellers to carry itself through the water. The helicopter pilot from the Doommech (oh damn, _and_ her grandma) waved from the cockpit, as the nuns in the back readied their miniguns. Not only were the guns themselves enchanted to work underwater, but the bullets were similarly divine, so they could rip through the water faster than anything the mercopters currently had, by the will of cosmic magic.

A spray of red tracer fire was unleashed upon the demons, stunning and frying them so that Doomguy could mow through their fishystick bodies even faster. He was punching so fast it kind of sounded like an actual lawnmower, turning the water almost completely black with blood. Visibility was low, but Fuckslayer was twitching back to life. Doomguy ripped the guitar from his pocket and began to jam _Mermaider II_ , the only logical choice of song.

Cthulhu texted Doomguy to stop killing all his bastard children and removed family members. Doomguy texted god to make cthulhu stfu but then god and cthulhu started throwing tantrums at each other. Doomguy just ignored it and kept punching demons.


	20. celebrate good times

So, god and cthulhu had reached a compromise, and at last, the seas had calmed. No longer were fishdemons attacking and tormenting the mercopters, so the city's denizens emerged from their hiding places to congratulate Doomguy— _and_ his friends.

The helicopter pilot from the Doommech swam over to Doomguy, occasionally spurting bubbles from her scuba gear.

"I had to repay you for saving my life," said the pilot, through her mask. "That's not something that somebody can just... forget."

"We came to do the same," cheered the nuns, as they flailed their own nunchucks (which were not made of actual nuns).

"You saved my whole homeworld, too," mumbled the shark ninja. "We couldn't just like, I dunno, leave you to fucking die horribly."

Doomguy shrugged.

The robot suddenly unleashed a guttural, inorganic scream, that echoed and bellowed throughout the entire sea. Apparently, it had said something polite, but no one had the cosmic ability to decipher it fully; not even Doomguy, hell, not even cthulhu.

Then, the mercopters surrounded Doomguy, gracing him with gifts of carved, decorative corals, and all kinds of sunken pirate coins. He took them into his pocket, and nodded thankfully to his friends, before clambering back upon his metal jet ski.

"Wait, why leave so soon?" asked the AH-64 guardsman, from before.

Doomguy shrugged again.

"Despite your obvious lack of rotary blades, we were going to crown you as the new sea king. It's what the prophecy says!"

Doomguy shook his head. He didn't want to stick around and be a helicopter king, because, he had demons to kill, of fucking course! Clearly, that was far more rewarding and important in every conceivable way. Ruling an entire kingdom of mermaid helicopters? Boring.

Instead, Doomguy suggested they crown the helicopter pilot as the new sea king (well, queen). The helicopters did not hesitate with Doomguy's orders, and soon placed a comically oversized crown of seaweed and pigmented coral around the pilot's neck. Apparently, its magic was so powerful, she had been blessed with the ability to breathe underwater. She was ultimately confused, but grateful.

Doomguy was about to leave, but suddenly had to go over and slap the robot because it was trying to swallow one of the helicopters. He scolded the robot with a riff from Fuckslayer, and then awkwardly swam back down to his jet ski. It was all very regal and yet very awkward, and now one of the helicopters had been scarred for life.

"Even if you don't wanna be the sea king," mumbled a V-22, "Could you at least stay for the rest of the celebration? Please? I want pictures with you, to show my mom! Pleeeaaase? I'm adopted..."

Doomguy shrugged. But, before he could finish shrugging, he had been draped with the ceremonial robes of honor. They were helicopter sized and Doomguy wasn't really sure how to move around with them, but they were still pretty damn honoring.

* * *

The mercopters attempted to set up a feast within the castle's great hall, but the banquet consisted solely of refueling stations. Frantically, the helicopters ordered some pizza and shit from a place in Massachusetts and waited for the guy to drive down in a submarine and deliver it. The mercopters feared that maybe somebody had a milk or wheat allergy so they ordered stuff from other places, also waiting once more for the submarines to arrive. Eventually they got all the food they needed, and began to telekinetically arrange it out on the table to the best of their ability. The foodstuffs quickly became soggy, much of it floating to the ceiling where it was consumed by small baitfish.

Doomguy took a slice of wet, disintegrating cheese pizza and wiped it across his visor. 

* * *

The rest of the celebration went smoothly and enjoyably. Together they played a game of horseshoes, which was excruciatingly difficult and far more challenging when played in the fucking ocean. Still, Doomguy enjoyed this challenge, and somehow won at the game, despite his opponents' advantage of motherfucking telekinesis. Maybe they were playing it easy on him...

Doomguy was also introduced to all sorts of interesting creatures that inhabited the royal gardens. He was especially intrigued when he came across a mercopter walking her pet trilobite around. Doomguy did briefly pet the trilobite's carapace, and soon he gave it a small piece of pizza that had been previous lodged in his helmet. He had never seen a living trilobite before, so he was unsure if it actually ate the pizza or not.

Doomguy also made a visit to the seahorse stables. They were unusually large for fishbeasts, but still far too small for a mercopter to ride; bringing up the question as to why they were even there. Seemingly, the creatures also had horseshoes duct taped to their bodies in the places where their legs would've been, had they owned such things. This was apparently because the mercopters had a surplus of horseshoes from their games and were clueless as to what to do with the rest.

Doomguy attempted to pet one of the seahorses, but it succed his finger into his mouth and he couldn't get it out. The sea queen had to come over and help him before the thing succed in the rest of his hand.

* * *

After many enjoyably confusing hours, Doomguy was ready to leave and continue his quest of killing all the fucking demons. He was very drunk and extremely tired, and he started fumbling around, trying to get back onto his jet ski. You would think that someone so righteous would remember to not drive while so heavily influenced, but thankfully, he fell asleep before he could even start up the engine.


	21. Happy Accident

Doomguy, having rested quite well, pulled his motorbike back into the driveway of the paint farmer's estate. It was a good stopping point on his journey, and hopefully the folks wouldn't mind. He knocked on the paint-slathered door, accidentally wetting his knuckles with color.

"Oh goodness, you're back!" said the man, as the door flew open. He then handed many, many cans of fresh red paint to Doomguy.

"The paint you gave us grows better than any other kind of variety we've grown before," he cheered. "We cannot thank you enough. We've managed to become the largest paint farm in the entire state, thanks to your help!"

He then gestured to the vast fields of growing paint.

Doomguy nodded, excitedly. The ocean had washed all the pirate demon blood off of his bike, so he really needed the red paint after all. He quickly played a riff on Fuckslayer, asking the man to help paint his motorbike. The dude called out to his family, who all happily rushed out with their paintbrushes.

Not only did they paint it with red, but they skillfully slathered its jagged, riveted surface with colors such as black, and very dark grey. There were a few accents of white, yellow, and orange flames, that had a spiny and almost lacy quality to them. Doomguy suggested that they could paint some happy trees onto its chassis as well, so the paint birds would have a place to live.


	22. The Woods

Doomguy rode his bike through the forest, quietly, as to not disturb its inhabitants. There were small creatures, such as friendly spectre songbirds, and interesting glowing mushrooms that walked and replanted themselves all on their own. There was a thin purple haze in the air, lit occasionally by the glow of bioluminescent pink and blue spores. The horned mice that scurried along the floor were also quite interesting: their coats were iridescent, continuously shifting colors as they scuttled and explored past.

Doomguy paused to examine a hummingbird dragon, as it had hovered down and perched upon a thin branch. It was curious and alert, twitching and bobbing its long snout about, while keeping a keen, beady eye on its surroundings. Then, the magenta-hued leaves above began to rustle, as something large clambered through the branches. Doomguy stopped the bike, silently.

It wasn't a demon, however; it only happened to be a gigantic, fluffy white fruit tarantula. They were common creatures of the land, and were rather harmless— but if the population were to boom, they could become a mild annoyance on a fruit farm. That's why most of the agriculture here revolved around paint.

Doomguy waited silently, as the tarantula wandered through the maze of branches above. Doomguy paid close and curious attention to the hairless younglings that clung to to the arachnid's back.

The little hummingbird dragon still hadn't hovered away, yet— it too understood the harmlessness of the fruit spiders. Curiously, it chirped, clicked, and peered down to Doomguy's bike, before promptly shitting on it.

Doomguy huffed, holding back his anger. Quietly, he stormed off by awkwardly pedaling the bike down the path again. The woods appeared to be getting darker, even though it was only morning. Doomguy was careful to stay on the soft dirt, so that no leaves or sticks would be disturbed into making a sound. He didn't know what else could still be in this forest, and he certainly didn't want to disturb it.

The woods only continued to thicken as he went further along the path, until the surroundings had become uncannily similar to the eerie fall of night, illuminated only by various bioluminescent flora and fungi. Doomguy glanced about the dimmed surroundings, still in search of more demons to kill. He knew he would come across them _eventually_ , but he just wasn't sure _when_. It could be minutes, hours, or even days— oh, god. Oh... fuck. The mere thought of a _day_ without demon-killing drove Doomguy _mad._

Quietly, Doomguy stopped to examine a suspiciously bright and juxtapositioned yellow flower. He considered taking his helmet off to smell it, but... but that would be stupid. He leaned away from the flower— but just as he did so, a heavy forceful force _grabbed_ him, ripped the helmet from his shoulders, and _made_ him smell the flower. It was stupid.

Doomguy began to feel woozy, and unnaturally tired. Just as he raised his hand to wipe the pollen from his nose, he felt the intense weight of something jagged across his shoulders. His vision became an indecipherable blur, before it all fell into a dreamless, thoughtless black.


	23. Basement Dweller

Doomguy was half asleep, but he couldn't stop punching. Even in his dreams, he punched. He punched and he punched and he punched, but for some reason it didn't feel _right_ this time. As he came to his senses, he realized his punches weren't doing anything because he was tied to the back of a fucking jeep. Fuck! Around his wrists, across his ankles— there were some kind of cosmic bonds... _Supra_ cosmic! Absolutely unbeatable! Not even his punches could save him now! Rarely had Doomguy ever encountered a problem he couldn't punch his way out of, but this... this was something else...

Doomguy began to heed the sounds around him. The synthy clavinet bass from _Come And Get Your Love_ was droning on and on in the background, obnoxiously muffled, whilst rainwater pattered across the building's metal roof. Doomguy tried to twist his head and get a better view of his surroundings, but alas, he was too uncomfortably restrained; facedown, of course.

Then, he heard a zipper.

Doomguy clenched so fucking hard as a heavy, cold breath tickled across his shoulders. That's when he finally heard the throaty, metallic snort of a 20,000 pound rapebot.

Not a rapebot, but _the_ Rapebot, the only one of its kind created during the height of the Cold War. The thing had voraciously schnorted  _every_ last _fucking_ bit of fuel out of Doomguy's bike, and now the lanky thing was coked out as hell, and it meant _business_. Angrily as fuck, Doomguy struggled and tried to punch things again. Rapebot just grumbled.

Doomguy wasn't sure what to do. He was unable to reach into his pocket for Fuckslayer, and the drowsing guitar was unable to hear its master's commands whilst locked away in the deep recesses of its dimension. Doomguy thought about calling the police, since he had the internet built into his visor (it was for fact-checking himself on wikipedia and also demon killing porn and gun porn and demon killing gun porn).

Doomguy's arrogance told him that police ass-istance would be boring, but then he felt seven solid barrels of steel trying to pry apart his armored asscheeks. He decided to call the police before he got his innards split open like a fucking egg.

Five seconds later the police blew down the fucking door with an explosive charge, immediately dashing into the shed with tactical flashlights, tactical fleshlights, nightsticks, and then some of them started shooting silly strings everywhere because they ran out of flashbangs. One of the police officers sacrificed his life to distract Rapebot, so the others had time to rescue Doomguy. One of the cops procured a book of anti witchcraft and then he used the blunt spine of the book to hit the supracosmic bonds so hard that they ragequit reality. Doomguy backflipped off of the jeep and then an officer threw an emergency whistle at him. 

"Hurry, Doom Slayer! _Use the whistlé_ _!"_

Doomguy blew into the rape whistle and it immediately caused the Rapebot to collapse to the floor in a fit of tears. The oily metal beast suddenly curled into the fetal position, hugging its knees and sobbing violently. Eventually, the cops went over and started gently tapping it with their nightsticks.

Doomguy went over and bitch-slapped it in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw rapebot is my self-insert fursona character do not steal


	24. Dominance

Seeing as that Doomguy had the situation under control, the cops left the scene after confiscating all of Rapebot's money and drugs and VHS pornos. It'd been a while, but Doomguy's rage hadn't died and was still slapping the giant robot like a little bitch. It managed to choke out a few scrambled, druggy words from its jagged metal maw.

"Wh-what the _fffuhck_ do you even _want_ from me?"

Doomguy shrugged, then slapped it again. It sobbed.

Then he realized it wasn't a demon and Doomguy suddenly felt a lot less angry for some reason. Then, he started to feel even more remorse, because the robot was clearly very retarded. I mean, it hadn't even bothered to take Doomguy's armor off before raping him. It probably didn't know any better. Still, it'd fucking tried to _rape_ him, so Doomguy slapped it again. 

Doomguy began to glance about the surrounding den, as he continued slapping the robot.

The room was an unpleasant, yet enticing sight. The walls were a host to all manners of straps, chains, and other unspeakable gear, and crusty chunks of cars and aircraft sat in every corner. Scattered about, there were even _corpses_ , though it took Doomguy an awfully long time to even recognize them as such. They were bashed, battered, and pulverized into a creamy pulp, hardly resembling the remains of living things at all, and soon Doomguy's anger grew into concern and a mild _fear_. He ceased to slap the robot and then began to explore, examining the room in more detail.

Eventually, Doomguy found his helmet propped upon a bloodstained workshop table. Quietly, he donned it, with a sigh of relief. Rapebot was still twisted away and bawling in the corner. Doomguy ignored it, resuming his exploration.

At last, Doomguy located his bike— but to his dismay, it'd been damaged by a recent climactic eruption of Mt. St. Rapebot. The mechanical beast's payload had shredded and melted the thing to bits, and what little remained of the chassis was almost beyond repair. Solemnly, Doomguy sat next to the bike's flattened corpse, and he withdrew Fuckslayer, then beginning a dreary, soft song— and now, the guitar's effects and playstyle had seemingly adjusted to sound like the booming, gentle tones of a grand piano. The instrumental began to lift and reassemble the tattered hunks of bike with sacred telekinetic magic.

Cautiously, the Rapebot crawled and slinked over, careful not to approach Doomguy from behind. It _seemed_ as if it didn't want to provoke him, but Doomguy knew it was merely trying to lure him into a false sense of security.

"Sorry I tried to rape you," sniffed Rapebot, pathetically. It had a grisly nosebleed and a gnarly lisp.

Doomguy crossed his arms.

"It's only my primary function," continued the machine. "Nothing personal, really. Just instinct, programming...

"I uh... I c-could help rebuild your bike?"

Doomguy turned away, grumpily. He immediately realized that was a fucking stupid thing to do— the Rapebot had advanced on him already. Before it could rape him, Doomguy punched the robot so it teleported further away. Upon realizing what had happened, Rapebot promptly sulked.

Doomguy wagged his finger, scoldingly. He then reached into his pocket, grabbing and displaying the whistle again. The robot cowered in its presence.

"Don't do it," sobbed the machine.

Doomguy sat silently. He didn't need to blow the whistle. It wasn't about the whistle— it was about _control_. Doomguy had control. He _was_ control.


	25. The Palace of Disgrace

"hahaha i am the most powerful wiazardeof all time you canot stop me now"""" soad vaoldermor

Harry took out his penis.

"windgariusm levisoa" said harry using the spell to lift his magic wand to get a instant boner

"HARRY DONT DO THAT" cried Hermy One. "HE IS A PEDO!!"

harry shat himself then put his penis away

Vsodlermot then summoned his evil adversaries and mercenaries from all over the galaxy by doing a special dance. The dance consisted of him suddenly waving and flailing his arms like he was desperately trying to fly. After a certain amount of time both of his arms popped off and fluttered themselves into the air, then summoning his minions.

"elsa use your ice powers!!!!" said Volderms, as Elsa pooped out of a portal.

So, Elsa shot ice at everyone

"no" said harry but HE DIED FROM THE ICE

Dobby couldn't look away. He had watched the slow death of his master with complete scrutiny, and now the elfin creature was slavering and frothing at the mouth with rage. Wheezing through the mask of his space helmet, he sought to _avenge_ his master. He had _loved_ his master. As the minuscule elf lunged, he was promptly caught and crushed by a ten foot robotic cock that smeared his guts and power armor along the palace floor like butter on bread.

"gfhr

hg

"omg fdfkdfjfjf pls help" said harry who was now a gost

Doomguy pointed to Elsa. With a guttural growl of pleasure, Rapebot grabbed, pinned, and promptly crushed the snow queen with his quarter-ton gatling cannon cock, finally freeing the snowy bitch from her undeserved title.

"fhfhjherht my weenie hurttts" said harry

"how does u feel pain u ar a gost" asked dumblydore who was also a ghost

THEN A BUNCH OF FUCKING DEMONS APPEARED

Doomguy grabbed an imp by the neck so hard that its head shot off of its body like a bottle rocket. It shot up so fast that the skull actually _exploded_ and disintegrated in the air. There's a joke in there about something _else_ shooting up faster but I'm too tired to find it

Then, Rapebot raped the _everliving FUCK_ out of Volhrrefm and Hermy One and then he even killed himself so he could rape harry and dumblecop too. Then he got kicked out of hell for raping too many demons and this effectively brought Rapebot back to life.


	26. The Plot Thickens

Doomguy rode his bike up the wall and across the ceiling. He braked the bike, backflipping violently before landing upright atop a Hell Knight, spontaneously turning it into a fucking bloody, crunchy pancake. Gleefully, Doomguy peeled the bike out on top of the meatpile, sending a spray of demonflesh across the palace hall.

"Thanks for raping everyone to death, Rapebot," said ghost-Harry. "Now vcolvert is dead we are freeed from the curse!"

Rapebot shrugged, then started raping more demons.

"Doomguy, I have to give you some exposition," said Harry.

Doomguy nodded and then karate kicked a demon in the face.

"I am the eight hundredenth millionth harry to appear in this dimension. this 69th plane of existence is where many lines of power converge. you may not have noticed it, doomguy, but your brain did."

Doomguy subconsciously remembered the auras. He didn't have too much time to ponder it, however, as he blasted a horde of demons to pulp with his rotary chaingun.

"This dimension is the source of power for many great entities, on that our brains cannot comprehent. many heros have lived ad dieded in this world and it is up to you to find and or revive them and stop the greatest entity of all from taking over these inocent worlds!"

Doomguy did the Confused Travolta gestures. Briefly, he stopped to punch a demon so hard that it flew through the palace wall and out into a cloudy, twisting expanse of pointed stone spires, where it got its anal canal impaled on one such spire. Doomguy then resumed the gestures.

"You need to find the original harry adnd the original dobby. you need to find the freemans. you need to find mr stalvern!! you have to find them all and save the world."

Unfortunately, all Doomguy cared about was killing demons.

"...and also you need to killing demons." continued harry

Doomguy suddenly gave Harry a violent, eager handshake. It was a deal. Saving the world sounded good as long as demon killing was involved.

"Ok thanks"

Harry melted into a bloody, pulsating puddle that slithered out of the window, then flying off into the clouds.

Doomguy was angry as fuck because he didn't want to have to deal with a plot or all these special prophecies but hey, it was in humanity's best intere— er, the greater goo— er, it was... uh... it was just the right thing to do.

Excitedly, Doomguy cut open a portal, hoping to encounter one of the fabled heroes.


	27. The Truth

Doomguy couldn't find any of the heroes yet so he went to Starbucks with Dr. Hayden for an unscheduled business meeting.

"Do you want to know the _real_ reason I have this robot body?" asked Samuel, enthusiastically.

Doomguy shrugged.

Dr. Hayden sighed.

"Well, ever since I was a boy, I'd dreamed of having this massive, cybernetic cock. I also _strongly_ believe that dominance is deeply rooted in one's height."

The robot sighed yet again.

"These long arms were also intended for pulling a _different_ lever, if you catch my drift."

Doomguy left the table.

"Wait, are you just going to leave your coffee here?" mumbled Samuel, concernedly.

Doomguy left the building, angrily trying to slam the door. Unfortunately the door was specifically designed to not get slammed so he just kicked an empty cup across the parking lot instead.

Mr. Hayden sulked for a moment.

Then, he heard a zipper.


	28. FUCK YOU IM A DRAGON

With a snap and a crack, Doomguy whipped the vines around the bullworm's neck, reining the beast as gently as possible, with Fuckslayer still in his grasp. He attempted to jam a softer, more melodic song, in order to calm the creature and communicate his motives.

After breaking the new mount, Doomguy used Fuckslayer to instruct the bullworm, asking it to tunnel deep into the caverns below. Eagerly, it pounded and heaved through the earth, soon slithering alongside a stalactite and straight into a bright blue bubbling spring. Doomguy excitedly surveyed the underground world, before dismounting and thanking the worm. He waved as it returned to the surface.

Doomguy took a quiet hike through the crystal caves, soon coming across a village of crystalline dragons. Having lived within the earth so long, the happenings of the above world remained unbeknownst to these strange peoples. Fuckslayer rumbled, and Doomguy performed an ancient ballad to explain his origin, purpose, and quest. The dragon villagers nodded, and immediately offered Doomguy some coupons for the tavern. He took them politely.

Within the tavern, Doomguy met a generously large sapphirine dragon who seemed to have an uncanny amount of uncovered mammaries, despite its reptilian status. Awkwardly, the creature turned to him, jiggling and swaying.

"So," said the dragon, in a rather gravelly voice. "You've come here to kill the demons?"

Doomguy nodded, drunkenly.

"Half our people have transmutated into undead beasts! We're a kind folk, we don't have the means to protect ourselves... And even our greatest sorcerers haven't the strength to return their souls, either— And _besides_ , I'm a quest-giver. It's not like you can refuse your duty, anyway."

Doomguy expressed his remorse for both the lost civilians and his unfortunate entanglement with the plot. He ordered another drink, generously using the scuba ninja's pirate coins to pay, rather than make use of the coupons. A horde of dragons soon gathered around, if only to get the slightest glimpse of the gold.

* * *

 

Later, Doomguy explored the caverns. They were remarkably wide and tall, far more than enough room for even the largest dragons to inhabit. Gemstones encrusted almost every surface, and in this world, they seemed more of a common resource than a treasured, expensive mineral. Soon, Doomguy came across a trail of glassy, opalescent dragon blood, leading him to the location of a heavily guarded draconic Gore Nest.

without hesitation, he whipped out the Gauss Cannon, and sent a beaming railgun shot right into a zombie dragon's skull, ripping it apart in a light blue bolt of shining fire. He relished the growl of Fuckslayer, suddenly plunging the chainy beast-saw into yet another zombie dragon, ripping apart all of its dragon tits and scattering the fatty tissue across the jagged, glittering rocks.

Quickly, he lunged for the Gore Nest, tugging its heart out and letting it explode into a glossy deluge of pulpy organs and liquified dragon bits. Angrily, he pulled the Gauss Cannon back out, incinerating, slicing and boiling through a dragon's neck before it could get on top of him. Careful not to slip on the nest's wet remains, Doomguy dashed over and punched a dragon so hard that it turned inside out and transformed into a harmless chameleon with wings and boobs.

Doomguy put the chameleon in his pocket because it was interesting. Then, he swapped the Gauss Cannon for his beloved Chaingun, sending a glorious, gorgeous spray of armor piercing rounds into each and every dragon that he could see. A rotten spray of feathers, scales, and fur were flung into the air, splattering across the stalagmites and stalactites until all the gemstones were washed over with a deep, crimson hue. Doomguy teared up a bit as the chaingun's powerful kick flowed through his existence, until the barrels attained full speed, vibrating, humming, and echoing through the entire cave system as the metallic screams pounded into Doomguy's chest. All the dragons went deaf but Doomguy was too cool to get deaf so he just stood there laughing and cackling maniacally while euphorically withstanding the recoil of a 15mm gatling-style turret.

The fumes from the gun and the sparkling dust from the rocks finally began to settle as Doomguy put the weapon back into his pocket. He dusted his hands, brushed off his legs, and trotted further into the cavern.


	29. Sinus Infections Suck Ass

After the destruction of the Gore Nest, the demons got _pissed_. Doomguy opened his suitcase and took out his shoulder mounted flamethrower and then he mounted it to his shoulder and PISSED FUCKING FIRE ALL OVER THE FUCKING DEMONS AND THEY FUCKING EXPLODED

 


	30. Wingaling Dragon

After justifiably murdering all the demons into pulp, Doomguy frolicked through the caves and into some weird fucking dragon temple. It seemed kind of cool, maybe sorta spooky. It was ostensibly detailed and its appearance kind of blended into a mess of spikes and sparkles and weird outlandish architecture that just gave Doomguy a fucking headache.

Gently, he knocked on the door. There wasn't a response. Just as he lifted his fist up to knock again, four massive fucking claws broke through the door and pulled him the fuck inside.

It was the Wyverdemon.

With a metallic, glittering scream, the bloody beast spread its wings and scattered a cloud of powdered crystal. It was half demon, and half dragon, and it was also half crystal and half stone and half titties and half tiger. I know that's six halves and that's because there were _three_ of them.

Doomguy grabbed the crystal tit-tiger demon by the neck-tits as it leapt and tried to claw at his face. He tossed its kitty titty corpse to the side, and then strafed and rolled away at the very moment a lashing stream of hellfire came from the dragon demon's maw, missing Doomguy and incinerating the tiger into a pile of ash instead.

"You fucking idiot," said the stone-demon.

"Sorry," said the dragon.

Then Doomguy jumped on the dragon's face and punched it like eight hundred fucking times. The other demon just stared blankly and silently as Doomguy made the Wyverdemon deepthroat all six feet of the BFG, before ecstatically  squeezing the trigger and boiling the cursed reptile into a bloody mess of scales and liquified demon tits.

Perhaps the bloodlust was Doomguy's only weakness. There was so much fucking blood all over him that Doomguy actually couldn't see. He didn't have any windshield wipers on his visor, which really sucked. Even his hands were covered in dragon blood, so when he tried to wipe his visor off with them, it only got worse.

The stone demon began to slog through the gorey mess of viscera, now ready to avenge his brethren with whatever means necessary. He pulled a crystal dildo out of his ass and smacked Doomguy so hard with it that he flew into a wall.

Doomguy was so pissed. Really, really fucking _**pissed**_. **PISSED.** He was also blinded and that made him even more fucking angry. Doomguy was at peak pissed-ness and so he started flailing and punching at everything.

"You fool!" cried the demon, in a raspy growl. "You have no choice but to accept your defeat, you stupid cuntface fucking piece of ugly fucking demon-killing asshole, no-good deep-fried pig-anus white-brief shitstain!"

The demon took a deep breath.

"A bucket of smoldering jizz would have more charisma than you!"

Then Doomguy whipped out Fuckslayer and then he played BFG Division at the volume of six hundred and sixty six fuckibels and the bendy notes translated to "mr demon you have small penis"

The demon exploded. Doomguy bowed.


	31. Chapter 31

And so, all the demons in the caves were fucking dead. The dragon tit pope gave Doomguy a bunch of mushrooms and other weird shit as a gift. Most importantly, however, the dragon also gave Doomguy a map.

"There was a prophecy. One we held onto for years, but it was never met. It faded into myth and obscurity, just like our other knowledge of the surface-world... But now, I see it was true. It was the legend of the Hell Walker."

The dragon instructed Doomguy to brush his palm across the map. As he did, a pattern of burning red runes suddenly appeared upon the parchment.

"You... _you_ are the Hell Walker."

Doomguy carefully studied the letters, deciphering them. They were instructions to reach a special place: a new world, _between_ dimensions. It was a realm that Doomguy _had_ to find in order to save the 69th plane of existence from an untimely destruction. I mean spacetime was so fucked up that he had like all eternity to find it, but hey, he didn't have anything better to do.

"Our world depends on you, Hell Walker. I wish you luck on your journey. Finding this new prophetic dimension, using only these clues, seems like it could be such a difficult, puzzling task—"

Then Doomguy fucked space and cut open a portal straight to the location and teleported there instantly. The dragons stared quietly as the portal disappeared in a blink of red light.


	32. Repercussions

Doomguy advanced forward, cautiously. The room reeked of old coffee grounds and plasma. At the end of the room, a man stood before a window, his breath condensing upon it every other moment or so. Skyscrapers and neon lights, partially obscured by fog, stood stoically across the horizon, as cars soared past— quite a wild and nostalgic sight for Doomguy, but completely ordinary and boring to the other man.

"I have been expecting of you," mumbled the man, as he sipped his coffee. "Sit down."

Doomguy plopped down on the floor, criss-cross applesauce.

"In a fucking chair, ok. This is big boy business."

Doomguy teleported into a chair.

The man limped over, before quietly hunching over into his own seat. He was old, and there was something wrong with his face. Doomguy wasn't quite sure if the man was even alive or not— but he didn't seem to be a demon. At least not _anymore._

"It is time... for story."

Doomguy nodded.

"We have a lot of common, me and you. When I was little boy, I saw first ships leave earth. I saw Moon become prosper and the Mars began to colonize. I look up to father and say, 'I want to be on the ships daddy,' but he look down to me, and he say..."

The man lowered his face, obscuring it slightly in the dark.

" 'NO. YOU WILL BE KILL BY DEMONS.' "

Doomguy adjusted his armor a little bit.

"I believe him, I did. But he was wrong. I went on the ship and I did not get kill by demon. I kill demon. I plasmaed them until they began to become vaporize. I did same as you, kill demon until no stop... but then...

"I BECAME THE DEMONS."

Doomguy punched the man in the face.

"No, am no longer demon!" cried the man. He really struggled to spit the words out through his shattered, dislocated jaw.

Doomguy went limp with embarrassment.

"I was chosen by propechy like you," continued the man, as he duct-taped his jaw back into place and put all his teeth into a little jar. "Maybe in fact, I _am_ you. Different version, from different time, with slightly less drug and metal involved. But, together, we are _supposed_ to join. We will become... the eternal bros."

The man rose from his seat.

"I am John. John Stalvern."

Doomguy shook John's hand, eagerly.

"We will plasmae until the end, Doom Slayer."


	33. Faster Than a Bullet

John Stalvern waited. The bowels of the earth trembled below.

Exhaustedly, John wiped the sweat from his forehead with the barrel of his plasma rifle. Soon, he reached for his radio, and promptly brought it to his face. It was time. He could feel it.

A heavy drum solo immediately screamed over the walkie-talkie. It was the signal.

All the way at the other end of the dungeon, Doomguy's entire essence erupted and he began to telepathically release the entirety of Judas Priest's _Painkiller_ album, _all at once_. The caves echoed endlessly with the screams of shredding guitars and gunning bike engines.

Excitedly, John spun the entire plasma rifle around on his finger like a rifle, then securing the bungie cord to his armor and leaping off into the Pit of Badassness. A swarm of batdemons flocked and assailed him, gnashing their fangs and attacking him with their talons, but John plasmaed them so hard that they turned into steaming clouds of bat dust.

Then, John plasmaed the bungie cord in half and did a backflip, landing comfortably upon on the back of Doomguy's bike, all as the music swelled into an epic, eldritch climax. Hundreds of guitar solos all harmonized together as Doomguy rammed the bike's sawtires through eight superdemons in a row, cleaving them in half and flinging their floppy torso-halves across the halls.

Doomguy took his hands off the throttles, continuing to hold them down and steer the bike with his mind. Curiously, he withdrew the map from his pocket again, deeply studying the ciphers— curiously, the runes changed depending on which realm Doomguy happened to be in at the time. John peered over his friend's shoulder and read the runes as well, then giving up a big double thumbs up.

Doomguy nodded, and stuffed the map back into his pocket. He brought his hands back to the handles and crashed the bike into a brick wall. Together they plunged through the debris, descending into a never-ending spectral abyss of lightning clouds and twisting planes of ethereal magic. Autonomously, the bike transformed into a gritty bone-saw attack jet, safely carrying both space marines even through the misty midst of the strange new realm.

Doomguy punched a lightning bolt so hard that a portal opened, throwing everyone into some kinda dystopian city in the throes of planet Terra.

After his astonishment faded, Doomguy put the bike plane into his pocket, and he began to glance about the empty urban surroundings. Beneath a grove of dead trees, a tarnished statue caught his eye, one with a massive etched plaque at its base.

"John Freeman: Saver of Humens," read Mr. Stalvern aloud, with tears in his eyes.

Doomguy struck a chord on Fuckslayer, as he and Stalvern kneeled.

 _"We're here,"_ cried the guitar.


End file.
